“You’re not a whore. You’re a slut,” his deep resonant voice sounded confident as he faced her. His denim shirt was open at the neck, hinting at the tanned muscular slabs of his chest. His shoulders seemed incredibly broad to Janine as she looked into his crystal blue eyes.
“There’s a difference. A whore charges for her services, but never gets involved with her customer. She never even falls in lust. You will fuck anybody, anytime. You’re in lust with every man you meet.” He smiled into her eyes as he traced the opening of her blouse, then followed the V of her bra to the depth of her cleavage. His hand followed the soft curve and then he hefted and squeezed her firm, fully-rounded tit, feeling her sensitive protruding nipple rubbing sensuously against the palm of his hand. He flicked the hardening bud of her nipple with his finger. He stepped closer to her, feeling her other breast pressing against his hard chest. His other hand slid confidently between her legs to massage her mound through the fabric of her dress.
Janine swayed firmly against his chest. Her tits seemed to thrust brazenly at the bra restraining them.
“What about my husband,” she whispered. They could hear him about in the living room, watching football and waiting for them to return. The knowledge that he could enter the room at any time and catch them added a heady spice of danger to their lust.
“That poor, stupid jerk. If he knew I was in the room next to him feeling up his wife like some street tramp, he’d probably have a coronary. Open your shirt. I want to see your tits.”
“I can’t. He’ll come in and catch us,” she said.
He kissed her deeply, his tongue first pressing against her inviting lips, then exploring her mouth. Her tongue began dancing with his, and she moaned deeply. It was obvious that she liked his kiss.
The kiss ended, and he smiled into her eyes again. “Open your shirt. I want to see your tits.”
Janine fumbled briefly with the buttons of her blouse, then paused. “What if he comes in here?” she asked.
“He won’t come in here. Hell, he won’t even get out of his chair to get his own beer. That’s why I’m in here,” he reassured her, as he massaged her pussy through her skirt.
She looked skeptical at the same time her body began to sway to the movement of his fingers.
“Hey, how about bringing us out some sandwiches when you come,” her husband called from the other room.
“You see?” he asked as stroked her pussy, massaging her inflamed flesh slowly, sensuously, teasing her passion, his finger tracing her slit.
He looked deeply into her eyes, smiled, and kissed her again. The kiss was terribly delicious. It took her breath away and her resistance dissolved with that breath.
Continue reading “Not A Whore Just a Slut”